


one for the money

by MidwesternDuchess



Series: am i hearing wedding bells or is that the dishwasher [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, I don't know how to use emdashes and at this point I'm afraid to ask, give me fake married au or give me death, this is gonna be a wild ride y'all so come along with me, this is like full on comedy of errors, widojest hours only ahead so if that ain't your thing give this a pass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: "We were so happy to hear of your union," says Lady Olios, in that silky-smooth voice of hers. Beside Caleb, Beau makes a sound that sounds vaguely like she's choking. Caleb doesn't even look."Ah," says Caleb, pleasantly, like an idiot. "What?"





	one for the money

_ "This,"  _ says Beau, and Caleb is already rolling his eyes, because the  _ last _ thing this mess needs is input from a  _ monk,  _ "isn't that bad. Could  _ definitely  _ be worse."

Which—yeah. Thank you,  _ Beauregard _ , font of fucking wisdom, they already  _ know _ that, because this is the Mighty goddamn Nein, and their only two settings are  _ bad _ and  _ worse  _ and the latter is on an exponential incline into fucking infinity.

"Could it?" Fjord is taking turns looking at everything in the room that  _ isn't _ red-haired, blue-eyed, and Zemnian. He seems to have aged thirty years in exactly seventeen minutes. Caleb can relate. "Could it  _ really?" _

"They could be dead," Yasha points out, ever the optimist. She is also avoiding eye contact with Caleb, but Caleb likes to think that has less to do with the situation at hand and more to do with a perquisite of just being Yasha.

"At least if they were dead we could  _ fix _ it," Nott argues, and Caleb shoots her a pleasantly annoyed look, mouthing  _ at least if I was  _ **_dead?_ ** but she ignores him.

Beau seems to ponder this comment with a seriousness it is not warranted. "I think death annuls marriages in some parts of the Empire," she says, frowning hard, and Caleb just stares at her because he has a feeling he knows which member of the newly wedded couple would be killed off in one such scenario. "But maybe that's, like, if one spouse kills the other?" She looks up at Caleb, like she's gauging his interest in either a) killing Jester Lavorre or b) being killed  _ by _ Jester Lavorre.

"Can we possibly," begins Caleb, noting the way everyone finds something else to look at the moment he starts to speak, "stop acting like mine and Jester's  _ death _ would be an improvement?  _ Possibly." _

There's some shuffling of feet. Yasha coughs into her fist.

"I didn't say  _ Jester  _ would be the one dying," Beau mutters, because apparently an accidental marriage—yes,  _ accidental, _ he said what he said and he is fucking  _ sticking to it— _ is one of those things that allows for a lapse in the  _ I'd kill and die for you  _ camaraderie he and Beau have been developing over the last year and a half. He can't exactly blame her.

"So what do we do?" Nott asks. "I mean, how do we…?" she trails off, making vague, unhelpful hand signals that Caleb assumes means  _ fix this _ but to him translates more closely to  _ kill Caleb. _ She's making  _ throttling _ gestures, is all he's saying.

"To be fair," Caduceus speaks now, and it's like the antithesis of Caleb speaking, because everyone immediately looks to the wise firbog seated at the table, teacup in hand, faces lighting up because  _ thank gods _ someone sensible finally has something to say. "Miss Jester has yet to voice her opinion."

Beau visibly winces and Nott goes straight for her flask, so Caleb can sort of guess how the room is feeling about that particular angle.

"She  _ is _ one half of the situation," Caduceus reminds them all, vaguely stern in that sort of ambiguously parental way of his—not mad, just disappointed. Caleb likes that he calls it  _ the situation _ and not  _ the problem.  _ It sounds so much more manageable and less like a huge fuck-up that way. "We can't make any decisions without her input."

"Yeah, but, Duce," Fjord tries. "Jester ain't—well she don't always—" he scratches idly at the back of his neck, glancing around like he's hoping someone will rescue him. Everyone has suddenly developed an interest in their footwear. Fjord sighs.

"Sometimes she can make bad  _ choices, _ is all," he rushes out.

"Like marrying me?" asks Caleb, a challenge in his voice that has absolutely  _ no _ business being there because  _ yes Caleb, _ like marrying you, you absolute fucking  _ dunce. _

Fjord flounders a bit, flushing an even darker green.

"No!  _ No, _ I don't mean—" Fjord is scrambling for words and Caleb is forcefully reminded that this man is the face of their party. That he’s literally the most charismatic person they have. "I'm just  _ saying _ I don't know how much  _ insight _ she'll be able to—"

_ "Insight?" _ Beau wrinkles her nose. "It's a  _ marriage,  _ Fjord, not like, a  _ riddle.  _ What kind of insight do you need?"

Nott snaps her fingers.

"The Ruby!" she smacks Caleb's arm for attention even though he's literally already looking at her,  _ attentively. _ "I'm sure the Chateau has had to annul all kinds of marriages, right? The Ruby will know how to fix this."

Which, sure, Caleb supposes that’s a logical idea. The rest of the Nein certainly seem to think so—there’s lots of nodding and noises of agreement—but then, none of  _ them  _ are the ones who now have the most powerful and popular courtesan on the continent as an  _ in-law _ and  _ oh gods  _ the Ruby of the Sea is his  _ mother-in-law— _

The door bursts open and Jester Lavorre comes tumbling through.

About a half-hour late. Or maybe right on time. Caleb isn’t sure.

“Oh my  _ gods  _ you guys I had the  _ craziest  _ dream last night and you were  _ all  _ in it and—”

She breaks off, taking in her surroundings—Yasha standing sentry at the door she’d come through, Beau and Nott staring at her widely and obviously and unsubtly, Fjord appearing to age another five years before Caleb’s very eyes, Caduceus’ warm smile.

Jester only hesitates a beat—Caleb can’t help but spare a thought of admiration for how quickly she can recover from any sort of social misstep, Bren would have eaten his heart out at the sight, had they ever met—before cocking her head curiously.

“Early morning party?” she guesses, even though it’s very apparent that is not at all what is happening. A ring sparkles on her finger and Caleb’s stomach makes a valiant escape effort via his mouth.

It’s almost comical how—as one—the most disorganized group in Wildmount turns in horrifying synchronization to look pointedly at Caleb.

The silence persists for  _ just _ long enough to make it sufficiently awkward before Caduceus breaks it. Part of Caleb wonders if the firbog is really that oblivious, or if he is fully aware of how long he makes everyone stew in silence. Caleb is banking on the latter, personally.

“Well then,” Caduceus offers a serene smile—sleepy and happy and warmly content. Like there isn’t one single problem—let alone at least, like,  _ fifty _ of them—that needs addressing. He rises to his feet, inclining his head towards the door. “We’ll just leave you two to talk for a bit.”

Nott  _ balks _ at this, but Beau picks her up and tucks the goblin under her arm like she’s an absolute pumpkin and sets out after Caduceus. Yasha makes direct and unnerving eye contact with Caleb before pulling from the room behind Fjord, whose hand twitches as he moves like he’s trying to convince himself not to summon his falchion.

All too soon—or maybe not soon enough, Caleb’s entire sense of being has been unaligned since he woke up with a band on his ring finger—they’re alone.

He tenses automatically, but Jester just peers at the door the rest of the Nein had exited through before looking back to him, smiling widely like it’s just another day.

“So!” she chirps. “Breakfast?”

.

.

.

"So we just like, what?” Jester tilts her head, making her horn ornaments chime softly. “ _ Married each other?” _

_ “Ja.”  _ Caleb is very carefully slicing up a grapefruit he has absolutely no intention of eating.

Jester hums somewhat noncommittally as she pops another chunk of pastry in her mouth. Caleb thinks it’s a muffin. Or at least a Xhorhasian’s best guess at what a muffin might be.

Silence settles, and Caleb devotes his entire consciousness to the grapefruit so that he doesn’t have to think about how awkward and stifling it is.

“Huh,” is Jester’s apparent summation of the situation. Caleb watches as she tears off another piece of bread and his eyes track the sheen of her ring—her  _ wedding _ ring, as it happens, and has he mentioned that, the married thing, the fact that he and  _ Jester fucking Lavorre are married— _

With the grapefruit already halved, then quartered, then  _ eighthed,  _ Caleb thinks finely dicing it might be overkill, so he pushes aside the neatly cut fruit and sets the knife down, reaching instead for a distant cousin of a maybe muffin from the plate in front of Jester and begins meticulously picking out the nuts scattered within.

Jester is staring at him, silently. He wills himself not to notice, or do something stupid, like look back at her.

“Well, cool,” she finally decides, and somewhere in the back of his mind Caleb lets out a faintly hysterical laugh because, yeah, sure,  _ cool,  _ let’s go with that—

“The others want to speak to your mother,” Caleb explains. He’s siphoning about an eighteenth of his concentration to count the nuts as he plucks them out,  _ eins, zwei, drei, vier— _

Jester perks up at this  _ immediately.  _ “Of course!” she trills out, eyes suddenly brightening. “Oh my  _ gods _ Caleb, we  _ have  _ to tell Mama she’ll be so—”

“They want her to annul the marriage, Jester,” Caleb explains, carefully cutting her off because  _ one, _ she really does need to be made aware of that before this gets too out of hand and  _ two, _ if he hears Jester gush about how delighted the Ruby will be to meet her son-in-law he will make a break for the nearest cliff of substantial height and heave himself off of it.

Jester dims, slightly, and Caleb goes back to counting nuts and fantasizing about Xhorhas’ many peaks.

“Right,” says Jester, after a moment. She steals a few nuts off Caleb’s plate and pops them in her mouth, crunching them loudly with vaguely fanged teeth that Caleb has been determinedly  _ not _ been developing a fascination with since the first time she smiled at him. Nope. Not him. Some  _ other _ low-life wizard who develops deep-rooted affection for anyone who shows him the slightest bit of kindness.

“We’ll set out later today, I imagine,” he goes on, because he has long made peace with the fact that he’s an absolute fucking coward and  _ he’s _ certainly not going to bring up any of the previous night’s events until he’s exhausted every other option, and maybe not even then. Not like he remembers most of it, anyway—alcohol rips his flawless recollections to shreds. He pushes the plate of nuts towards her, along with the muffin he’s torn apart. She flashes a grateful smile and tucks in.

Uneasy with nothing to busy his hands, Caleb leans back in his chair, fixing his gaze on the cupboards. “Beau and I need to collect something from Lady Olios,” he reminds her. “Then we can leave for Nicodranas.”

Jester bobs her head in understanding, and Caleb’s fingers twitch restlessly. How is she being so calm about all of this? Is  _ he _ overreacting? The rest of the Nein had quickly agreed the situation was a  _ problem _ that needed to be  _ fixed— _ but here Jester sits, feasting on foreign pastries, looking like she’s never been less concerned about anything in all her life.

He knows she’s a good liar, but she has distinct tells he’s painstakingly memorized, and none of them are on display now. He frowns, tracing transmutation runes on the tabletop with a finger.

“We have the support of the Nein,” he tells her, idly casting a conversational line to understand how she’s seeing this. “It should be cleared up soon.”

Jester nods again, licking a single blue finger free of the sugary syrup the muffin had been coated with, and Caleb is suddenly struck with a memory from last night—hazy and unclear, the way his memories get when he’s drunk—of Jester spilling beer from her tankard and hastily licking it off her hands, like she can’t afford to let any of it go to waste, even though they’re  _ clearly  _ both well and truly sloshed at that point and Caleb had reached forward to loop loose strands of hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing against the chilled skin of her cheek—

“What do  _ you _ think?” asks Jester, in that voice that Caleb knows is going to be the absolute death of him because he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the simple pleasure of just being  _ asked _ for his opinion. Not being tested or tricked or interrogated. Their lives aren’t at stake, no one is in danger—nothing really hinges on his answer because they already have a decent plan of action, but Jester still wants to hear what  _ he _ thinks.

The problem, however, is he has no fucking  _ idea _ what he thinks.

“Ah,” he says, awkwardly, and somewhere his past self is writhing in physical pain at this entire display. Ikithon’s golden prodigy unable to string three words together—gods help him. “I think…”

Fragments of memories flit through his consciousness—Jester throwing her head back in laughter, some unknown Kryn raising a cup in a toast, the shine of their wedding bands, a deck of cards—

“I think we can fix this,” Caleb eventually offers, shuttering his brain to keep the splintered recollections out. He has run out of things to aimlessly toy with and settles on spinning his slightly-too-large wedding band around his finger. He smiles somewhat thinly. “We always do,  _ ja?” _

Jester tilts her head, assessing him silently, and Caleb is suddenly struck with the need to reassure her, so he leans forward, taking hold of her hand—it isn’t weird or out of place, they’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder with little by way of privacy or personal space for more than a year, they’re friends, they’re close, they touch all the time—but the matching gold of their rings makes Caleb’s head feel top-heavy.

Still, he looks her in the eye, determined to set things right.

"It will be  _ fine.” _

.

.

.

It isn't fine.

This becomes apparent to Caleb as he and Beau stand in Lady Olios’ chambers, accepting a scroll of notes some Kryn spies had nicked from a member of the Crownsguard. Caleb’s fairly superior knowledge of how information travels in the Empire and the disdain Archmages hold for anyone who isn’t also an Archmage informs him that there is absolutely nothing of value in said notes, but he’s still working out a more diplomatic way to say that.

"Thank you, my lady," Caleb says cordially, and reaches out to take the scroll from her, careful not to brush his hand against hers because he isn’t looking to test Xhorhasian hospitality and also he’s just kind of clammy.

Lady Olios nods, as Caleb briefly examines the scroll, sharp eyes picking apart the Imperial code, schooling his features to a look of keen scientific interest. It’s a note about wheat shipments.

“This could be serious,” Caleb says, tucking the scroll away, already trying to think of a way to spin something so singularly useless into something at least a little worthwhile. Maybe he can convince them wheat is an integral part of some Dwendalian war custom. “I will do my best, my lady.”

Olios nods again, and Caleb is taking that as his cue to leave, but before he can even turn away—

"We were so happy to hear of your union," says Lady Olios, in that silky-smooth voice of hers. Beside Caleb, Beau makes a sound that sounds vaguely like she's choking. Caleb doesn't even look.

"Ah," says Caleb, pleasantly, like an idiot. "What?"

“Your union.” Lady Olios inclines her head towards Caleb’s hands, where he still holds the scroll and the faint gleam of a wedding ring is winking just below his glove and it’s a bit too big for him and is on the verge of falling off his finger at literally all times which means he’s developed a habit of periodically checking to see if it’s still there which is honestly not great for his whole plan of _keep the marriage thing on the down low_ and he shouldn’t be surprised Lady Olios knows, is what he’s saying.

“Yes,” he says, after a very noticeable pause. He’s fairly certain Beau has forgotten to breathe and nudges her lightly, listening as she drags in a sudden, lungful of air. “Apologies, my lady. It’s all still rather new.”

The nice thing about being an Imperial in the heart of Xhorhas is everyone thinks he’s absolutely stark raving mad anyway, so Lady Olios blows off his  _ utterly shit _ handling of that exchange like it’s nothing. Cheers to the Dynasty.

“Of course,” she nods sagely, like Caleb actually said something intelligent instead of whatever just came out of his mouth. “I understand your desire for privacy—we do not know your customs, but we respect your choice all the same.” Here she smiles, really and truly, and Caleb does his best to return it without looking like he’s being run through with a longsword.

“Many thanks, Lady Olios,” he replies. He rocks back on his heels, slightly, passing his gaze across her chambers to see there’s about a dozen-odd Kryn standing guard and there is absolutely no way of keeping this thing under wraps.  _ Scheiße. _

An awkward silence persists—well, _Caleb_ knows it’s awkward, but the rest of the Kryn seem to have about as much social awareness as a school of fish which means there _is_ silence and it _is_ awkward and the part of his brain devoted to being an ex-silver-tongued social mastermind is actively _shriveling up._

_ “Well,”  _ says Beau, so noticeably too-loud that Caleb  _ winces. _ “Thank you very much for the information, Lady Olios, we’ll be sure to—”

“Marriage is very sacred in these parts,” Olios speaks smoothly across Beau and the monk snaps her mouth shut. Nott complains that Beau can’t take a social cue to save her life, but Caleb thinks she’s rather adept at reading and responding to the wishes of beautiful, older women. But what the fuck does he know, besides literally nothing.

“Ah,” he says again, because he has absolutely no idea what to say and Beau looks like she’s tapping out of this conversation on every possible level. 

With a snap of Olios’ lavender fingers, a Kryn soldier walks forward, holding a box in his hands. Caleb eyes it warily. Nothing good ever comes out of elaborately gilded boxes like that.

“You were married, as I’m sure you recall, within the Dynasty’s territory,” says Olios, and Caleb nods, even though he does not, in fact, recall. 

Olios gives him a once-over and Caleb does his best not to squirm under her silver stare. “The ceremony was rather…” she flicks her gaze up to his face. “Uncoordinated, as I understand.”

_ Uncoordinated.  _ Now there’s a delightfully open-ended and painfully vague word.

“We were thoroughly enjoying ourselves,” says Caleb, feeling the need to defend past/drunk Caleb and Jester. Surely they hadn’t done anything  _ that _ indecent—it’s not like they woke up in  _ prison _ although that, admittedly, would probably have been better, objectively, since they have actual experience with getting out of prison—

Lady Olios only smiles though, seemingly inexplicably charmed.

“Naturally,” is her response. She says something to the Kryn soldier at her side, and Caleb feels his whole gut  _ lurch  _ as he reaches to unlatch the box—

It’s…a chalice.

“Oh,” says Caleb, somewhat blankly. “It’s—lovely.”

And it is, truthfully. It looks like platinum, so perfectly polished he can see his own dumbstruck reflection in its surface where it's nestled on a crisp velvet pillow. A sapphire and a diamond—both the size of duck eggs, surely—are embedded in the goblet, intricately cut and shining brightly under the firelight.

Caleb immediately decides he doesn’t want to know how much it costs.

“You left it behind shortly after purchasing it,” Olios explains and Caleb remembers—oh, right, he has an audience for this—and it takes every scrap of his Imperial education to not choke.  _ Purchased?  _ With  **_what?_ ** Money they  _ don’t have?  _ “It is a key component of the marriage ceremony.”

Caleb nods faintly, doing his best impression of a person not on the verge of a heart attack.

“Dude,” says Beau, peering at it over his shoulder. “That looks like the thing you drink blood out of when you join a cult. Which I guess makes sense.”

“Out of the goodness of my heart, I am declining to share the fact that you once likened marriage to a cult with any potential future  _ Frau _ Beauregards,” Caleb says back, still staring at the cup. Beau throws an elbow, but it doesn’t knock the wind out of him, so he assumes it’s a  _ thank you  _ elbow and not a  _ fuck you _ one.

Beau says, “That thing must have cost a fortune,” either having forgotten about or expressing an indifference for Caleb’s anxiety over spending any amount of money greater than, like, six gold, no matter how necessary or noble the purchase.

“You were offered a healthy discount, I’m told,” says Lady Olios. He glances up to see the elegant drow assessing him. “Heroes of the Dynasty, after all.”

“Of course,” Caleb says, doing that thing where his mouth and brain override his higher cognitive functions in an effort to escape whatever situation he’s landed himself in. The Kryn soldier closes the box and holds it out to him. Caleb’s hands grow, if possible, sweatier.

“We look forward to you decoding the message,” Lady Olios tells him, settling back comfortably in her chair. She offers Caleb a smile that he’s sure is supposed to be encouraging, but given his current mental state, looks just a little too sharp. “You should bring your wife with you, next time. I’d be honored to oversee the marriage ceremony—properly, this time.”

The box in Caleb’s hands gains ten pounds, suddenly, and he clutches in tightly in his hands.

“Right,” Caleb somehow manages to respond over his ongoing inner monologue of  _ don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic  _ **_don’t fucking panic—_ **

“I think Jester would love that,” Beau announces, far too loudly, and Caleb cannot for the life of himself understand how this woman works for a secretive, shadow society. She looks—very pointedly and obviously—at Caleb. “We should go back and  _ tell her _ , huh Caleb?”

He bobs his head, not trusting himself to spit out anything of use, and just manages a respectful nod to Lady Olios before Beau is all but dragging him out the door.

_ “What the fuck,”  _ she breathes the second they’re back in the cold darkness of Xhorhas. She won’t let go of his upper arm, and Caleb can faintly feel himself losing circulation.  _ “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—” _

“I  _ know,”  _ Caleb hisses back.

“Why didn’t you mention that fucking goblet thing earlier?” Beau asks harshly. She tightens her hold on him and he makes a noise of discomfort, making her immediately drop her hands. “Shit, sorry. But really—what the fuck?”

_ But really—what the fuck _ is truly probably the best summation of the entire mess of a situation, Caleb reflects, wracking his brain for something to say that isn’t:  _ I forgot.  _ He isn’t going to confess that now, not here, not with so much at stake. This is the  _ last  _ place to show weakness.

“I didn’t know Lady Olios had it,” he says, which is true, but only because he  _ also  _ didn’t know it existed at all. “Forgive me for being more focused on ending the marriage than reminiscing on it.”

Beau gives him that  _ look _ then—the one that he sees and thinks  _ ah,  _ **_that’s_ ** _ why she works for a secretive, shadowy society.  _ Because Beauregard is—truthfully—one of the smartest people Caleb has ever met.

“Let  _ me _ break the news,” Caleb tells her, mostly to change the subject, though his mind is already spinning with different ways to play this new development. The last thing they need—besides input from a monk—is Beau riling everyone up by blurting everything out. Tact and control—that’s what they need.

Beau nods. “Yeah, of course.” She claps him on the shoulder so hard she very nearly dislocates it. “All you, man.”

Caleb smiles grimly in thanks.

.

.

.

“We’re fucked,” Beau announces, with no preamble, before she’s even fully through the doorway.

Caleb sighs,  _ “Beauregard,”  _ in that resigned way that Beau, at least, pretends to be chastised by. Caleb is under no illusions of his ability to influence Beau’s actions even a little bit, which is good, because her recklessness has—more often than not—saved his life.

He really would have preferred she listened this time, though.

She holds her hands up, already defensive. “I didn’t say  _ why,”  _ she insists, like this absolves her of all crimes, past, present, and future. “I just said we’re fucked. That’s not news. We’re  _ always  _ fucked.”

That is…Caleb narrows his eyes. That is a very good defense, actually.

“What happened?” Fjord asks urgently. Behind him, at the kitchen table, Jester and Nott look up from a map spread between them, while Caduceus stands near a group of potted plants he’s arranged under enchanted lights. Fjord’s eyes drop to the box in Caleb’s hands. “And what’s that?”

Nott darts forward to flip the lid of the box open before Caleb can even get a word in because of course she does, the treasure-starved heathen. She gasps with delight upon seeing what’s inside while Yasha silently ghosts in, drawn to the commotion.

“That could have been trapped,” Caleb says reproachfully, snapping the box shut as Nott lifts the chalice from the pillow, wide eyes somehow even wider as she turns it over in her hands. “I thought we’d all agreed to  _ not  _ grab obscure, possibly magical items without checking for traps first.” He doesn’t  _ look _ at Fjord, but the implication is there.

Nott flaps him quiet, never looking away from her new trinket. “I’m a rogue, I could never get caught in a trap,” she says, very dismissive for someone who, on several occasions, has been caught in many kinds of traps. Caleb keeps a list, if anyone ever wants to see it.

“It’s lovely,” Caduceus remarks, stooping to inspect the item. “Where did you get this, Mister Caleb?”

Jester is Staring at him, Caleb notices. Capital  _ S  _ Staring. 

Caleb says, “Um,” very intelligently, before snapping to attention.

“The Kryn know we’re married,” he explains, managing to not stumble over  _ that word _ and frankly feeling like he deserves a medal for it. He’s sort of talking to everyone but very exclusively looking at Jester. “They take marriage very seriously.  _ This—”  _ he nods to the chalice Nott is holding up to the light, looking a moment away from taking it between her teeth to test its authenticity “—is a part of the marriage ceremony. We bought it last night.”

Jester nods, slowly, still looking like she’s searching him for something. Caleb cannot for the life of him imagine what it is—he feels like he’s never been  _ more _ useless in his life, and he was once on the floor of an asylum with no memories to his name, so.

“Marriage ceremony?” Nott asks, nose wrinkled with disdain like she, herself, is not  _ literally married, _ and Caleb can already see she’s pricing how much to sell the chalice for so he snatches it back and restores it to the box, which is then immediately taken from him by Yasha.

“I’ve seen this before,” she says, voice hushed as always. She opens the box delicately and peers at the chalice inside. “When a Kryn couple marries, they both drink from something like this. A metalworker once passed through our lands—he made marriage chalices like this for a living, and explained the whole ritual. It’s something to do with…” she trails off, biting her lip. “Eternal love? I think?”

Beau snorts like she’s never heard anything more ridiculous in her life, but Caduceus looks oddly touched.

Fjord takes the chalice from Yasha then, inspecting it closely.

“This is fine work,” he remarks, turning it over in his hands. He glances up at Caleb, lifting an eyebrow. “Must’ve cost a fortune though, surely.”

Caleb shrugs one shoulder. “We were offered a discount, apparently?” he explains, realizing Jester is no longer looking at him, but frowning at the table with a look of stark seriousness that he can’t understand.

Yasha tilts her head, confused. “They offered a discount on eternal love?”

“I mean, what’s that worth these days, really,” Nott replies carelessly, and Caleb  _ really  _ can’t stress enough the fact that she has a husband she loves  _ very much. _

Seeming to snap out of whatever crisis she’d been in the middle of, Jester snatches the chalice back, holding it to her chest. The sight kicks something over in the back of Caleb’s mind—a memory rattles and shakes for attention, but he can’t quite focus on it—

“You  _ guys,”  _ she drawls, accent heavy and sweet. “You can’t put a price on  _ true love.” _

The room goes very, very still. Caleb’s digestive track makes a break for it, and his stomach swoops at the sensation.

“Um,” Fjord says, sounding vaguely winded. “What?”

“What do you mean,  _ what?” _ Jester frowns, glancing around almost defensively—the way she looks when she’s made a huge leap and is expecting everyone to pick up the slack and follow. To be fair, she hasn’t failed them yet. “You heard Caleb—the Kryn think this is real, and they take it really seriously. We  _ have _ to stick with it, at least for now.”

Caleb strains to catch some note of discomfort in her voice—if she’s unhappy with any aspect of this he will  _ cheerfully _ throw himself into the abyss and save them all a lot of trouble, and, actually, now that he’s thinking about it, that’s not an altogether terrible idea—

“That’s not so bad.” The way Jester looks up at him through her lashes—who in the world taught her how to  _ do _ that, really, honestly, that should be a  _ crime— _ immediately derails his train of thought.

She smiles—once, shyly. “Right?”

There are literally no defenses built into Caleb’s body for this.

_ “Ja,”  _ he says instead.

They just stand there for a moment then, silently staring at each other, which some part of Caleb dully recognizes is  _ undeniably creepy _ but he’s sort of forgotten there are other people in the room and—

_ “So,” _ Beau says loudly, “onto Nicodranas?” She glances between them, eyebrow climbing higher and higher. “To, y’know,  _ annul the marriage?” _

Jester claps her hands—ring on her hand catching Caduceus’ enchanted light as she does—turning away from Caleb and apparently breaking whatever spell she had absolutely just cast on him.

“To see my mama!” she sing-songs, and by the gods above and below—Caleb smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> filed under _I Don't Even Know_
> 
> trying my hand at something a little more fun and loose—my fics tend to lean towards the serious side of things but I've read a lot of funny, more ridiculous stuff lately and was really inspired to try my hand at it, so here we are: the We Woke Up Married fic that became the Fake Married fic which spoilers I guess will end up as the Happily Married fic. a three-for-one. a triple threat. this was supposed to be 2k words _at most._
> 
> I tweet updates and previews and little drabbles on twitter [@reduxwriter](https://twitter.com/reduxwiter). I'm also occasionally lurking in the widojest discord as Duch, cooking up angst and other fuckery. I visit [tumblr](https://reduxroyal.tumblr.com/), like, once every lunar cycle. you can summon me with an @ anywhere if you ever wanna chat. you can also read my other Critical Role stuff [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess/works?fandom_id=5406982) if you wanna.
> 
> this is gonna be four parts total, I'm pretty sure. the name of this series "am i hearing wedding bells or is that the dishwasher" is an inside joke from my middle school days of all fucking things that I am fully aware nobody understands but makes me cackle every time I think of it so I regret to inform you that it is, in fact, staying. it's also what I named the first draft of this so we're kinda stuck with it lads.
> 
> have a good day <3
> 
> ~~reading over this it kinda reads anti-fjord and that??? could not be farther from the truth??? I love my green son and he gets his own time ahead where he actually makes good choices, bc this is an AU~~


End file.
